Chapter 37

37

E llyn had a strong sense of déjà vu as Rennwick came to fetch her for her audience with the mysterious lady who had set the events of the past four weeks in motion. She should have been nervous, or at the very least burning with curiosity, but she felt remarkably calm and at ease, no doubt lulled by a long night of lovemaking.

Renn had left her chamber early to avoid being seen by any of the nuns. He was once again dressed like a courtier in black hose and a tunic wrought in rich green velvet that perfectly mirrored the color of his eyes. The one new addition she had not seen before was a jewelled brooch pinned to a short cape he wore draped over one shoulder. The heart of the brooch was a crest set against a field of blue, with a coat of arms depicting a winged griffin in gold and the motto: Loyalty above all.

Renn's finery was matched by her own, for an elegant array of clothing had appeared in her chamber. A silk chemise so sheer it felt like water next to her skin lay beneath a snow-white kirtle and a long pelisse made of embroidered samite in a color called rose madder. It was thick and warm, bordered in fur, with bell-shaped sleeves that hung to the floor. Her hair had been brushed until it gleamed then caught up in a delicate crespine of fine gold netting held in place by a circlet studded with garnets. Her slippers were made of layers of cendal beaded with tiny pearls. Her stockings were so thin and fine, it felt as though her legs were bare.

The corridor that ran beside the chapel was long and wide and their steps rang on the bare stone. There were pine-knot torches set in iron cressets on the wall, the sap crackling and hissing as they passed.

"Do you not suppose you might now, at the last instant, in the final moments before I make her acquaintance, share the great lady's name with me?"

Renn stopped. He turned toward her and cradled her face between his hands, kissing her deeply enough to evoke every memory and sensation from the previous night. Shamelessly, Ellen pressed herself against him, her hands skimming up his chest to feel his heart beating beneath her fingertips.

When their mouths came apart, his lips found the soft curve of her neck, just below the ear. "When my lady is ready for you to know her name, she alone will tell it."

Ellyn's eyes narrowed and she muttered an oath better suited to a hog farmer than a lady in samite and ermine. He only chuckled and kissed her again, then leaned past her to knock softly on the door they were stopped beside.

"Come."

The voice was thin, definitely female, and Ellyn felt the first twinge of nervousness as Renn turned the latch and stepped aside so she could walk through the opened door.

Any semblance to her first shadowy meeting with Sabinius vanished when she stepped into the chamber. The room was large, lit by scores of fat beeswax candles that filled the air with a sweet, warm perfume. There was a fire crackling in the hearth and two large chairs placed before it.

One of the chairs was occupied and as Ellyn and Rennwick entered the chamber, the woman stood and turned toward the door.

Ellyn remembered Sabinius saying the lady was in her ninth decade and the years showed in the lines and clusters of wrinkles around her mouth and eyes. Her hair was a shock of white bound in a loose chignon at her nape; her midnight blue gown was fitted to her slender frame, the bodice studded with tiny gold fleur de lis . Despite her years, she stood tall for a woman. Her back was straight, her shoulders square; jewels twinkled around her neck and on the many rings that cluttered her fingers.

Ellyn had never seen the English queen… or any queen for that matter… but she imagined this would be what royalty should look like: Regal, beautiful, with a hand raised to welcome her visitors inside.

"Please, do come closer. I do not know what Lord Rennwick has told you about me, but I can assure you, I do not bite."

Ellyn hesitated, but a hand gently pressed into the small of her back encouraged her to move forward.

"Lord Rennwick has told me very little," she said truthfully.

As she came closer to the bright firelight, the woman's eyes widened and Ellyn saw that they were a most remarkable shade of violet with none of the cloudiness she had seen before in older men and women.

"Good St. Cyril preserve us all," the woman whispered. " You were right, Sparrow. I would have known who she was if I had seen her across a crowded market square."

Ellyn halted and looked around. There was no one else in the chamber and she had not seen a cage. "Is there a bird in here?"

"Sparrow is not a bird, though he often flew like one through the treetops. No, he was a very old and dear friend who visits me now and then." She raised a gnarled finger and touched it to her temple. "Up here, mostly. He buzzes about like a gnat in an empty space. You know he is there, you just cannot see him."

Ellyn moistened her lips. "So… he is a ghost?"

"You do not believe the spirit lives on after death?"

"At the moment, I prefer to believe in flesh and blood, in what I can feel and touch."

The woman smiled. "In flesh and blood form, Sparrow was a very wise seneschal, always brimming with sage counsel, ready to brand you a fool or blunderhead if you did not heed it. He was also as loyal as the day was long and God forbid he should rest in peace if he thought trouble was afoot."

"Is that why you sent for me? Because a ghost told you there was trouble afoot?"

"He did not have to tell me. I knew it long ago. Just as I knew this day would have to come. Or at least, I hoped and prayed that it would. For several years, we thought you were dead, my dear, and it was the happiest of days when Sabinius sent word that he had found you alive." A hand fluttered to her throat. "Oh, but do forgive my rudeness. Will you take some wine? I brought it with me down the mountain; this vinegar the French call wine sours my stomach. Lord Rennwick," she glanced past Ellyn's shoulder, "will you do us the honor? And… Ellyn, is it? I understand you have ch osen not to use the name Enndolynn? Please, will you have a seat? I can only stand long enough to give a good first impression."

The two women settled into the chairs and Rennwick brought them wine in silver goblets crusted in gems.

"Fill a cup for yourself, my lord, then do come and join us." She smiled at Ellyn. "If you have no objection, that is. Lord Rennwick is a knight whose loyalty I do not question and a friend whose counsel I revere."

"I wish you had counseled him to be more forthcoming, my lady. He has been stubbornly close-lipped lo these past weeks since he appeared like a wraith out of the walls of Nottingham Castle."

"For that I do beg your forgiveness. I had no idea the dolt that holds the seat of High Sheriff of Nottingham was so close to finding you, or that when he did… well… I had to act with all haste. And I could not risk information falling into the wrong hands should someone be exposed to a subjugator's hot irons. Lord Rennwick knows who I am but not why it was so urgent that he find you and bring you here."

"I have no wish to sound rude or ungrateful for saving me from an uncertain fate in the king's hands, but… who are you? Why have you brought me here? When I asked Sabinius, all he told me was a tale of woe wherein my grandparents were lost in a shipwreck and my mother was carried to England as an orphan."

"Yes, that is true. We were distraught to hear of the shipwreck, to think we had lost all of you. But Robert—your grandfather—had been adamant about leaving France. And his dear wife, Adele, would have followed him to the edge of the earth if he had asked it of her."

"Sabinius also told me Adele was a witch. "

The lady's lovely eyes twinkled with amusement. "She was bewitchingly beautiful. He was quite taken with her in his youth, as were we all. She was dark-haired and dark-eyed, so unlike Robert who had pale blond hair much like your own, and those wondrous pale blue eyes. His father, your great-grandfather Eduard, was the same. Tall and long-limbed, with a fine spread of shoulders. Two golden-haired men who looked the way kings should look, not dark and squat and toady like John Lackland and his spawn. And yes, I am old enough to remember them all, although it seems cruel as I recount the names and see the faces so clearly of those so long gone, that I alone am left to carry their memory."

She paused and seemed to drift back in time for a moment, then waved a hand impatiently. "Yes, yes, Sparrow, I know."

Ellyn glanced over her shoulder at Renn, who only acknowledged her arched eyebrow with a bland smile and a faint shake of his head.

"May I show you something, my dear?"

Ellyn's head snapped around again and mimicked Renn's noncommittal smile. "Of course."

The woman set her goblet down carefully on the table beside her and picked up a roll of parchment. "I am told you know some Latin. Perhaps you can tell me what this says?"

Ellyn set her own goblet aside and reached across the gap. She was wary of some manner of trickery, but in the end, smoothed it open on her lap and tilted it to catch the bright firelight.

Clear violet eyes were studying her with the focus of a hawk.

"'Tis nothing of importance," Ellyn said with a small shrug. "A description of weather and fields and a long day of travel through the mountains. It is not Latin, however."

"But you can read it," came the hushed response.

"Of course I can read it. I just did."

The woman's hand shook slightly as she reached for her goblet of wine again, but she stopped shy of touching it and curled her fingers into a small fist before retracting it to her lap and clasping both hands tightly together.

"My dearest Enndolynn, no one has been able to decipher those words since your grandmother wrote them. Not a priest, not a scholar, not a wild Romany. It was written in your grandmother's own secret language."

Ellyn looked down at the parchment, at the words she could read so clearly. A memory reached out to her through the fog of time, for she had seen this writing before, in the notes her mother had made on how to mix herbs into poultices and potions.

She let the two ends of the scroll snap together and looked calmly at her hostess.

"Was this another test? Sabinius asked to see the mark on my thigh, the mark of the rose that supposedly brands me as who I am. But who am I? And who are you? Are we related in some way?"

"Alas, no. Sadly not."

Ellyn frowned. That was not the answer she had been expecting.

"Having met you, however, and seen so much of your ancestors in you, I sincerely wish I could claim the privilege of such proud bloodlines. As to who I am, my name may not mean much to you but I was born Brenna Gillian Wardieu de la Seyne Sur Mer. While we may not be related directly by blood, we are indeed bound by the twists and turns of a destiny that set our footsteps along this path over eight decades ago."

Ellyn had no outward reaction for a full minute. Inwardly her thoughts were racing back to the countless nights spent sitting around campfires listening to bards sing tales of rousing adventures and names that became legends.

"Brenna Wardieu," she whispered. "You share the name of a famous lady archer. It was said she could shoot the eye out of a squirrel at five hundred yards."

The lady chuckled. "A generous exaggeration, I assure you. Mind, I had no trouble plucking the feathers off a pesky woodsprite at half the distance."

Ellyn recalled more songs. "Sparrow. The dwarf. Are you saying it is he who buzzes in your ear?"

"He preferred not to think of himself as a dwarf, but as a stalwart warrior overshadowed by great hulking brutes like my father, my brothers, my husband. Indeed, despite his lack of stature, he almost slew my husband, Griffyn, having once thought him an assassin disguised as a champion, sent to kill my brother Robin in the lists."

Ellyn felt a spin of light-headedness. "Griffyn. Griffyn Renaud de Verdelay? The Prince of Darkness… was your husband?"

"The king of my heart." Lady Brenna smiled softly.

"The bards sing chansons of him charging down the lists like a dark wind, his armor and weapons black as night, his courser a black beast from hell."

"The bards take many liberties with the truth. I was married to him for over thirty years and half the deeds they credit to him have come with a thousand embellishments. I dare swear my brother Robin was vexed to hear some of his own triumphs and adventures ascribed to Griffyn, but time muddies all things, I suppose. Regardless, they were great friends and two of the boldest, bravest men I knew."

Memories flooded the violet eyes, making them shimmer in the firelight.

After a moment, she looked at Ellyn again. "Rennwick tells me you have a fair bow arm yourself."

"The couple who fostered me were armorers. I became acquainted with weapons of every kind but yes, I favored the longbow."

"Thus the name you chose: Ellyn the Fletcher. It may have helped keep you safely hidden after you left Lambeleia, but it added immeasurable difficulty to our efforts to find you. I had all but given you up for dead when Sabinius sent a courier with the news that one of his retainers had seen you at a tournament in Tickhill. Worse news came shortly thereafter when he advised me that you had been caught by Nottingham's men. Happily, I knew of Lord Rennwick's past history with Lord Alfred Falconard and hoped he might still remember his way about the castle." She smiled at Renn. "And here you both are, far enough from the king's grasp to cause him fits of apoplexy."

"I am still confused as to why the king wanted me in London. Why he sent a small army to chase me down at Bloodmoor. I thought at first it was because the king believed all the gossipmongers who claimed I was a witch, that I could see into the future, that I could slay dragons with a wave of my hand."

Lady Brenna nodded thoughtfully. "I have no doubt he would eagerly seek anyone who possessed any one of those talents, especially when he is fighting a war in Wales, another against his own barons, while suffering continual threats from the king of France. Certes, he could make good use of someone who could foretell his future and I warrant he keeps a flock of long-robed soothsayers and warlocks around him. But no, that is not the reason Edward Longshanks is so desperate to have you at his court. In truth, he has been searching for you almost as long as I have, chasing after every faint whisper and rumor. Since his wife's death last year he has redoubled his efforts."

Ellyn could no longer contain an exasperated sigh. "But why, my lady? I am still at a loss to know what possible use I could be to the king."

Rennwick spoke for the first time. "Would you prefer me to leave the room now, my lady?"

Lady Brenna tipped her head slightly as if someone was whispering in her ear. "Yes, I know. He should be told." To Renn, she said, "I would ask you to stay, my lord, if only to temper this infernal buzzing in my ear. Not that patience was ever one of Sparrow's virtues, or one that any member of my family could claim. The men were never ones to settle and content themselves with raising sheep and thus could never refuse a summons to battle. I suppose that is why most of them died the way they had lived: by the sword. Your grandfather Robert lost an arm and an eye in battle. His father Eduard died on a battlefield leading a charge of twenty knights against a force of two hundred. His father Henry—" She stopped and frowned. "Well, Henry lived by the sword but died of a broken heart. His wife's brother, Arthur, was an impulsive young man who was murdered by his uncle for daring to raise an army against him. Their father, Geoffrey, died of wounds he earned in the lists. And so it goes. Not a lute-strumming sheep-tender among them."

She drew a breath as she looked solemnly at Ellyn. "It was, of course, your… let me see… your great great great great grandfather's brother who was the bravest and boldest of them all, well deserving of the epithet Coeur de Lion . The Lionheart."

Ellyn stared. Behind her, she heard Rennwick's sharp intake.

Lady Brenna looked from one stunned face to the other. "It is true. The royal blood of Richard the Lionheart flows through your veins in a direct unbroken line, Ellyn the Fletcher, as does that of his father, the great King Henry Secund."

Ellyn shook her head. "My mother was a simple healer. My father was a tanner and made boots."

"It would have been impossible for either of them to know. Your mother was just a babe in arms, too young for your grandfather to share one of the closely kept secrets in all of Christendom."

"My mother lived all her life without knowing, as did I. Why the pressing need to tell me now? How do I know what you are telling me is even true?"

The infamous lady archer again reached for something on the table beside her and produced an object wrapped in a square of red silk. She carefully peeled the folds aside and offered up the palm-sized, painted oval to Ellyn, who stood and took it grudgingly, then carried it closer to the fire to study the surface. It was a portrait of a woman with silver-blonde hair and pale blue eyes.

"Mama?" she whispered, feeling tears burn along the rim of her lashes. "But you said you only saw her as a child."

Instead of a direct answer, Lady Brenna took her back in history. "When King Richard died, he had no heir. His younger brother had been acting as Regent while Richard was off bashing swords with the Infidels, so John simply took the crown and declared himself king. But there was a middle brother, Geoffrey, Duke of Brittany, who should legally have been next in line after Richard, but for the fact he died of his wounds running a joust at a tournament. He did, however, have two children, Arthur and Eleanor, and by right of succession, Arthur was the legitimate heir to the throne. With the help of his grandmother, the dowager Queen Eleanor of Aquitaine, he raised an army to challenge his uncle for the throne, but he was only sixteen and inexperienced. He was captured at Mirebeau and murdered in his prison cell."

"Murdered?"

"Some say the boy died from wounds he gained on the battlefield, but others knew it was John himself, who was given to fits of violent rage. He was somehow able to survive the rumors surrounding Arthur's death, but he was still left to deal with an impediment. Arthur's sister, the Princess Eleanor, was now the next lawful heir and claimant. He could not risk another mysterious death, so instead he had her imprisoned on charges of treason and kept her locked away for the rest of her life. That is her portrait you are holding. Eleanor, the Pearl of Brittany."

Ellyn looked down at the oval again. The resemblance to her mother was nothing short of startling. The hair, the eyes, the shape of the face. If she had a mirror before her, Ellyn might swear it was her own face painted on the cameo.

"Did no one fight for her? Could she not have put her case before the Court?"

"The barons, for whatever reason, were content with John. He was the devil they knew and, after forcing him to sign a Charter that restricted some of his powers, he was also the devil they thought they could control. Moreover, women had not been overly successful or popular as rulers. It was still fresh in their minds that Queen Matilda had been the cause of civil unrest that lasted nineteen years. Perhaps if they'd known Eleanor had a son…"

It was Rennwick's turn to express surprise. "A son?"

"Ellyn's great grandfather, Eduard. His birth was a closely guarded secret; only his mother, his father, the bishop who married them and the maiden who helped with the birthing knew. They also knew the child was in grave danger, for if John had even caught the whiff of a hint there was a male heir to challenge him and his spawn, he would have dispatched a hundred assassins to track the boy down. Eleanor did the only thing a loving mother could do: she gave the boy to a trusted ally to raise as his own. Eduard grew up believing that my brother Robin was his father, sweet Marienne his mother. Our father, who was champion to the dowager queen for many years, and had known the little princess all through her early years, suspected something was amiss the instant he set eyes on the boy. Just as I knew you were Cecily's daughter the moment you walked through that door. When Robin admitted the ruse, they agreed it was of utmost importance to keep the boy and his identity safe."

Ellyn frowned. "How could the princess have had a son? Did you not say John kept her in prison for the rest of her life?"

Lady Brenna pursed her lips. "He kept some poor woman in prison yes, but it was not Eleanor. My brothers helped her escape from Corfe Castle several years after her capture, when the guards were lax and John had no reason to think of her as a threat. He had found another cruel way to ensure she would never be declared queen, you see. He had blinded her. He had burned out her beautiful blue eyes with hot irons and regardless of her bloodlines, England would never have put a blind queen on the throne .

"After her escape she lived for a while in France, where her son was born. To protect Eduard, she returned to England and threw herself on John's mercy, begging to be allowed to live out her days in the seclusion of a convent at Kirklees. He granted her request on the condition she never reveal her true identity to the nuns, because, of course, he already had an impostor in prison posing as Eleanor of Brittany who he paraded out in public for special occasions… a practice carried on by his worm-ridden son Henry III after Lackland's death. The real Eleanor never saw her son again and only spoke to her uncle one more time. As the story goes, she visited him as he lay on his deathbed, poisoned by his own gluttony, and whispered the news of her marriage and the name of her son in his ear. I do hope that sent him on the way to hell with a scream in his throat."

"Was your brother the boy's father?"

"Robin? Heavens no. As much as his wife, Marienne, loved Eleanor, she would have carved off his ballocks and fed them to the crows. No, Eduard's real father stayed close by Eleanor's side, albeit living the life of an outlaw in the forests of Lincolnwood, bringing her news of their son when he could. Henry loved her, cherished her to the very end. He was a good man and died of a broken heart a day after his wife."

"They were married?"

Lady Brenna nodded. "When she discovered she was with child, yes. Even though she was aware her son would likely never take the throne, she wanted no stain of bastardy against him. Henry de Clare was of noble birth and the marriage was presided over by none other than the Archbishop of Canterbury—who was himself in exile in France at the time—so there could be no question of the union's legitimacy in the eyes of God or man. "

Ellyn looked down at the portrait again. She ran a fingertip across the face and sighed. "You have kept the secret guarded for so many years, why are you telling it now?"

"Because I am ninety-seven years old, dear girl, and I will soon, pray God, be joining my husband for all eternity. And because Edward Longshanks, through whatever nefarious means, has found out who you are and fears what might happen if the barons have another cause to rally around."

"If he wanted me dead, he could easily have had Nottingham kill me."

"Oh, he does not want you dead, child. Quite the contrary, he wants you very much alive and in his marriage bed. Imagine, if you will, the uproar it would bring about if he wed a direct descendant of Henry Secund and Eleanor of Aquitaine. A woman who, but for twisted circumstances, might now be the rightful Queen of England."

"No," Ellyn said. Then louder, "No! It is not possible. None of this is possible, none of it can be true!"

She closed her fist around the oval portrait and brought both clenched hands up to her forehead.

Rennwick stood and tried to take her into his arms, but she pushed him angrily away.

"Did you know? Did you know any of this?"

Before he could answer, Lady Brenna held out her hand. "On my honor, Ellyn, on the souls of my brothers and my husband and my father—all of us who were complicit in keeping the secret—I swear to you that Lord Rennwick knew none of this. I only told him you were important to me and he had to find you and bring you here or all of the Wardieu lands and estates here and in England would be forfeit. If you look now at his face, dear Ellyn, you will see the truth in my words. Lord Rennwick new nothing. It was one of the reasons why I bade him sit and stay with us. I cannot carry the burden of this secret on my own any longer."

Ellyn brushed a splash of tears off her cheek and tried to choke back others that threatened. She looked helplessly at Rennwick, who pulled her fiercely close and wrapped his arms so tightly around her she could not have caught a breath to sob if she had wanted it. Instead, she turned her face into the warm curve of his neck and just let him hold her.

Lady Brenna sank back into her chair. She waved a hand past her ear as if to chase away a persistent gnat. Whatever strength she had been drawing upon seemed to drain away, clouding some of the brightness in her eyes. She took up her goblet and sipped her wine, watching Ellyn and Rennwick as they remained locked firmly in their embrace, noting how Ellyn's arms were clinging as tightly to him as his were to her.